


Great Bend, Kansas

by Bad Samaritan (quodpersortem)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal, Bottom!Sam, But the fic itself is mostly just porny, Drunk Sex, I'm sorry about the title I used it's a bit cracky, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot, Porn Without Plot, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:24:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/Bad%20Samaritan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam doesn't like to get drunk because he knows it will lead to shenanigans--with his brother. And he's not so sure if he's fine with that (or that's what he thinks to himself when he is sober enough to realise it's really fucking wrong when you want your brother to screw you--literally).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Great Bend, Kansas

There’s an almost palpable tension in the air between them, so Dean decides it’s for the best they buy a bottle of Jack’s and get drunk on it.

“You’re kidding,” Sam laughs incredulously but Dean just smiles and shakes his head. His stomach twists a little, because he knows where this is heading, he knows very well and he should _stop_ it.

He doesn’t.

Forty-five minutes later he’s telling Dean, “You’re a dumbass.” 

“No,” Dean slurs, laughing, “No that’s where you wrong. See. I’m a hot-ass. _You_ are the dumbass.” 

They’re lying on their hotel beds, a set of queens with a bedside table between the two of them, and Sam groans as he turns on his bed. 

“The world’s’pinning. This in’t good.” 

“We’re on boats in a storm,” Dean just laughs at him, “We be pirates! You seasick yet, Sammy?” 

“Fuck you,” Sam tells him before he turns his back to him. “Imma sleep.” He vaguely remembers something about not feeling comfortable around Dean, about wanting to kis—doing _that_ —about something. The reason why they’re drunk. And he’s sleepy now, which he thinks he should be grateful for.

Dean stays quiet for a while. Sam can hear him shift on his bed while he dozes off. He’s glad he didn’t bring any quarters.

He doesn’t know if he wakes up or if he just didn’t realize Dean laying down next to him, but in any case, suddenly there’s a strong arm wrapped around his middle. Sam turns around in the grip and yeah, he’s still drunk but maybe his mind has cleared up a little.

Dean’s facing him, his eyes half-lid, and his eyes keep trailing down to Sam’s mouth. Sam involuntarily wets his lips and that’s when Dean moves in. “C’mere,” Dean mutters. Sam doesn’t resist and hates himself for it, though just a little.

Then their lips are pressing together and he can’t help but go along with it, his fingers touching Dean’s jaw, his shoulder, his ribcage, until they finally slide under Dean’s shirt. Dean sits up and lets him pull the shirt over his head and outstretched arms. Then Dean strips Sam of his shirt. His knuckles are burning hot on Sam’s skin.

Sam’s sure he should be cold in the drafty room but he isn’t, and he blames the alcohol. Dean is kissing his neck, wet and hot and Sam is shivering, his cock filling with blood as Dean’s thigh rubs between his legs. Fuzziness takes over again and he doesn’t fight it, he allows for it to wash over him until he’s moaning into Dean’s mouth, the two of them moving together, rutting up against each other. 

He’s getting desperate, touching Dean everywhere he can until he slips his hands under the waistband of Dean’s jeans and boxer, feeling the soft skin. Dean lifts himself up and looks down at him with half-lidded eyes. “You wanna?” he asks and he bucks his hips forward. Sam spreads his legs. He wants that, and he wants to so bad he doesn’t have the words for it—he wants and Dean understands.

Dean mutters something that sounds like “great” and then he’s smiling at Sam while he unbuttons his jeans. He falls off Sam as he wriggles his legs out of them, and Sam pulls his own pajama pants down, freeing his cock. Then Dean’s back on him, skin against skin and it’s too hot and familiar and it’s doing things to Sam’s head he can’t describe—it puts him to peace, which will confuse him later on because incest shouldn’t feel this okay, this fucking _perfect_.

“Shit,” he curses when Dean presses in a dry finger. “Use some fucking lube.” 

Dean grins at him wickedly but jumps off the bed and digs into his bag anyway. It takes him half a minute maybe, and by that time Sam is already shivering for Dean’s touch, his legs spread wantonly while he is lightly stroking his cock. He watches as Dean rolls on a condom.

There are a few drops of precome on his stomach already and when Dean returns to the bed he scoops them up with his finger, tasting Sam before he pours a generous amount of lube onto his hand and gets back to work.

This time Sam is arching up in no time, Dean’s fingers stretching him in a way that makes him moan and spread his legs a little further because he wants more, more, more. He hesitates to tell Dean for a moment before he remembers they won’t ever be _talking_ about this. Then he’s moaning because Dean’s found it, “ _thatfuckingspotrightfuckthere_ oh God I need more than that fuck Dean come on Jesus come on shit you jerk! A-Ahh!

All of a sudden Dean’s fingers are gone and he’s saying, “You should see yourself, Sammy, all spread open for me. You look like a filthy whore, you do.” He groans when he aligns himself with Sam’s hole, and keeps talking as he pushes in. “Sometimes when we’re in the car, I remember what you look like, your legs spread like this-“ he runs a finger down Sam’s thigh at that and Sam gasps, “Your cock rock hard just because you _want_ me so fucking much.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” Sam grits out then and Dean grins wickedly again before he starts to thrust into Sam in earnest. 

Sam’s holding on to Dean, his legs wrapped around Dean’s middle though they keep slipping off to his thighs. Dean’s keeping his mouth pressed to Sam’s skin, whispering things, _filth_ , God, you’re so fucking tight Sam, fuck, so tight, you’re perfect, you feel so good, shit, shit, shit.” Every single words is emphasized with another thrust and Sam moans in response.

“More,” Sam begs of him, his nails digging into Dean’s back, his thighs, anything to spur him on, to feel him deeper. “I need more,” and maybe he’s crying or sweating, or maybe he just sounds desperate, but Dean pulls out of him and Sam turns over. 

“Up,” Dean whispers into his back and Sam nods as he pushes himself up on his arms and legs and then Dean’s back, pushing into him. He slips a couple of times, the mattress not giving enough support and Dean can’t quite pick up a rhythm, Sam knows, so he tells Dean, “Get up.”

“What?”

“Stand up, next to the bed,” Sam grits out and he’s so fucking hard, he needs Dean back inside him right _now_ but thankfully Dean listens because he’s next to the bed so Sam can move over until he’s in front of Dean again, still on all fours on the bed, and Dean’s vice grip is back on his hips almost immediately.

His cock throbs in the cool air as Dean starts to push into him, and this time, after he’s tried a few angles, he hits Sam’s prostate. Not on every thrust and not perfectly each time but it is so much better than before and Sam has to bite on his lip to keep from shouting out.

“Dean,” he says then, unable to really keep quiet, “Dean, shit, Dean, come on, I love you, I need this, come on, faster, faster, you can do it-“ and he’d love to jerk himself off right now but he can’t, he’d fall down and he doesn’t want to because Dean’s fucking him in a way it’s perfect.

“You’re, shit, Sammy, you’re so fucking tight,” Dean’s panting, “I’m close, Sam, fuck,” and Sam knows, of course he does, he can feel how Dean’s thrusts grow erratic at first and then go completely off-rhythm. It’s okay though, it’s okay because there are tears stinging in his eyes and drops of precome on the sheets below him but he’s feeling so fucking good, better than he has in ages, and maybe he tells Dean all of that, but in any case-

“Fuck, S- _Sam_ ,” Dean is moaning behind him, thrusting in three, four more times until he stops.

“Jesus,” Sam breathes and then Dean’s fingers are closing around his dick, jerking him off with quick and sure strokes. He’s grinding his ass back against Dean’s softening dick, and when it slips out of him Sam whines at the loss of the pressure. Then he’s just thrusting into Dean’s hand and when Dean uses his other hand to press against Sam’s hole he’s coming, shooting mess all across his blankets. 

Seconds later, he’s collapsing into that same mess, his head a jumble of thoughts while Dean lays down next to him, tossing the condom to the floor. There’s a hand on his back, soothing him, and it doesn’t take very long until he starts to drift off to sleep.

“Sam?” he hears Dean say from afar.

“Yea?” he manages to respond, turning his head to his brother.

Dean just smiles at him and presses a kiss to his forehead. Then he gets up and shouts from the washroom, “You’re cleaning up tomorrow!”

Sam just groans into his pillow.


End file.
